Issues in Public and Nonprofit Administration

The Real Reason

I’ve only protested once, in my life. Around four years of age, my older brothers, with their friends and neighbors, were engaged in a game of football in our backyard.

I loved football. Even at that early age. And I wanted to play. But they wouldn’t let me.

I was too young, too small, and I might get hurt, they would say. I did not meet the standards required to play with the older boys. But it didn’t matter to me. I still wanted to play.

So, I boarded my tricycle, atop the driveway and slightly perched above the back yard, and let it rip. Down the slope, I went, right into the middle of the backyard, right into the middle of the “football field” and right into the middle of their game. My actions stopped the game and frustrated my older brothers. Time and again they would pick me up, tricycle and all, and return me to the driveway. Each time I kicked, screamed and cried, and each time I rode my tricycle back down the embankment, and right back into the middle of their field.

I suppose I could attach any one of many causes to my actions. I could have made the always broad and ambiguous claim of “Human Rights” – whatever that is. I could have raised the ever-convenient argument of “Constitutional Rights”. I could have screamed, “discrimination” against little people, or children. And for those who feared for my safety, I could have made the claim “my body, my choice”.

I wasn’t aware of any such thing as Lesbian, Bisexual, Gay and Transgender (LBGT), particularly at my young age, so those arguments would not have applied. At least not for this ladies’ man.

Perhaps I could have made up causes, such as “The Freedom of Children to Play”, or “The Right to be Happy” movement.

When I watch the protesters, one day after the inauguration of our nation’s 45th President, I heard of multitude of causes, or claims. I heard claims from safeguarding the constitution, to women’s rights (which women already have); immigration; racism; discrimination; healthcare; education; economy; sex abuse; planned parenthood; and more. But, unlike earlier historical protest in our nation’s history, I struggled to identify a single-minded mission statement as the basis for their protest.

The march in Selma, held a single-minded mission statement against racial discrimination, and led to much needed change, and legal reform.

Women’s Rights – the right to vote, work, and engage in everyday activities, the same as men – was another single-minded protest, with a mission statement that brought about change.

Those protests held a comprehensible, a single-minded mission statement, that all could understand and grasp. And for that reason, those protests were successful.

However, the protests that followed, one day after the inauguration of our 45th President, lost me. It failed to have a single-minded mission statement and carried a “broad” (no pun intended) base of “reasons”, and I couldn’t grasp their message.

It was a movement that began in earnest, one day after the election. The movement electrified and unified angry voters, who objected to our new President. They were galvanized and eager to participate. But for what, exactly?

Protesters descended in our nation’s capital, and in other cities, eager, excited and ready to be heard, but what where they saying?

As best as I could tell, they weren’t saying anything. At least not verbally.

What I witnessed was a “feel-good” moment, organized by people who were out-and-out angry with the outcome of the election. It was an opportunity, for misery to love company, where people angry about our new President could come together, under an umbrella of non-cohesive reasons – otherwise known as excuses – and vent. It was an opportunity to “emotionally heal” and feel better about themselves. To go away saying, “We showed them.”

Much like that four-year-old little boy who “showed” his older brothers, by repeatedly riding his tricycle into the middle of their field, and stopping their game. But that little boy didn’t know he was protesting. In fact, that little boy didn’t know what a protest was. The only thing that little boy knew, was that he was angry, because he wasn’t getting his way.